David Mercer arrived at the slip, his face flushed with outrage. He wore a dark button-down shirt and jeans, pointing a stiff, accusatory finger at Victoria and the partygoers onboard.
Victoria didn't even flinch. She turned her head with an insolent, dismissive smirk, adjusting her blonde hair with casual superiority.
"You weren't using it," Victoria stated flatly, as if explaining basic arithmetic to a toddler. "We needed it for the gala."
"You broke into my private dock, bypassed the electronic gate locks, and stole a registered federal marine vessel!" David shouted, stepping toward the gangway.
Victoria pointed a manicured finger straight back into David’s face, her voice dripping with cold arrogance:
"Deal with it."